


"We're Blurring"

by cleophelps64



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Does it count as romance if you're one person now, Eventual canon-typical violence, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, mysterious occurrances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 20:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleophelps64/pseuds/cleophelps64
Summary: Two men fall, and only one washes up on the beach. But both survive.-----------Will and Hannibal have often remarked that they feel like they are becoming the same person. After the fall, a man with an unclear identity wakes up to find that that has come true- but there's nothing metaphorical about it.





	"We're Blurring"

**Author's Note:**

> This work was largely inspired by this face morph image by ThatNordicGuy:
> 
> https://thatnordicguy.tumblr.com/post/97807322421/mads-mikkelsen-hugh-dancy-i-need-season-3

He came to consciousness with a desperate gasp of breath, shocked awake by the freezing Atlantic waters that crashed around him in chaotic white peaks. The saltwater stung his eyes as he struggled to orient himself and keep his head above the waves. He knew he didn’t have time to think about what had just happened- if he lost focus for even just a moment, he would surely drown. It was dark, but he could dimly see the outline of the cliffs that he had been pulled by the currents some distance away from. His eyes followed the coastline to where he knew there was a small cove with a beach, and began swimming towards it without hesitation. Between the injuries he had already sustained, and the pain that went along with them, it took desperation to keep him from succumbing to the see. But he was not one to resign himself, and slowly but surely, he made his way to shore.

As he reached land, he clawed for the wet sand, and dragged himself up onto the beach far enough that the chill of the waves could no longer reach him. With that, he collapsed in exhaustion. Despite how loudly the halls of sleep called him, he forced himself to remain awake. He would have to move soon. His wounds needed treating, and the tide would soon rise and trap him in the rocky cove. However, he took whatever brief time he had to collect himself. He turned himself to lay on his back. The bright full moon was still high above the clear night sky. It was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as-

With that, a sudden panic struck him, causing him to bolt upright. _Where was Will?_ No. Wait. That wasn’t right. _Where was Hannibal?_ Somehow, that didn’t sound right either. As thoughts came rushing to him, he hoped for some sort of clarity to emerge, but the more he came to, the more confusion arose.

_I must be Will_. He concluded, thinking practically. Confusion of identity was nothing particular new to him after all. With that, he began to feel a sense of resolution, but then he looked down at his arms. Along his inner wrists were to long identical scars. Hannibal’s scars.

_This isn’t right at all._

Even in the most tumultuous moments of his life, Hannibal had never experienced any feeling even resembling confusion about who he was. Surely, he reasoned, even if he had hit his head against the rocks hard enough to cause major neurological damage when he crashed into the sea, it would have also been a more than severe enough wound to drown him. But the evidence was there on his arms, he couldn’t not be Hannibal. Will did not have those scars. In an attempt at reassurance, he began to inspect himself further. What he found bewildered him. Stretching across his stomach, he traced the raised line of another very familiar scar, but not Hannibal’s (well, not in a physical sense, at least). As he reached the end of it, he flinched in pain. He had found a fresh bullet wound. Almost instinctively, he put his hand to his face, where it discovered a still-bleeding hole in his cheek.

_ This must be a hallucination._

Hallucinations- there was something else Will was jadedly familiar with. But he had learned over the years to distinguish between the real and imagined, and this did not feel imagined at all. As he continued to feel himself over, his ragged breaths became increasingly faster. He felt entirely ungrounded. Memories- that was what he needed. He returned his hand to the smile on his stomach. No matter who he really was, he was sure that would elicit some very powerful recollections. As he concentrated, images began to come back to him. He remembered the electrically sharp pain of being cut open; but then, he also remembered the almost equally painful anguish of doing the cutting. This only confused him more, but he had already opened the floodgates, and waves of memories began pouring into his mind- memories of not one, but two lives intertwined. Feelings of intrigue and obsession and betrayal, of vindication and resentment and love- for both who he was and who he wasn’t, overwhelmed him. Whatever this was, this was far beyond a dream or a vision.

No longer able to still himself, he stood up. Unintentionally, the head rush that followed snapped him back to the reality of his situation, as he was reminded of how much blood he had lost. Practicality would have to take priority. Whoever he was, he preferred himself alive. Only once his survival was no longer in question was it really in his interest to start unraveling the mystery of his being. He took a breath, and limped away from the beach in search of somewhere safe and warm.

\------------

Hannibal had known the area well, thankfully, and so the man knew that he was more or less close to a small vacation home that hopefully would not be in use. It took what seemed like an eternity stumbling through the sparse coastal forest to find it, but eventually the automatic light on the porch flickered to life ahead of him. His prediction had been right- it was not occupied, so he stepped inside. The house was relatively nice. It was sparse, but warm and clean, and smelt of pine. The family that owned it only lived there for a small portion of the year, and as a result it lacked the distinct mark that a family usually leaves on a home. It seemed more like a house bought from a catalogue than an actual lived-in space.

Taking in the scenery, however, was not a wise use of time, so the man immediately went looking for the bathroom, where hopefully there would be a first aid kit, or at least a medicine cabinet. He found what he was looking for, but before that, the mirror found him. What the scars and the jumbled memories had alluded to, his reflection confirmed. The man framed by the doorway in the mirror was neither Will nor Hannibal, but without a doubt, both were staring back at him. Remnant features of two storied lives played across his face. Astonished, he moved closer. Beneath the sweat and blood (or perhaps accentuated by it), he was rather handsome. What intrigued him most were his eyes. They were an entirely unique color, with flecks of Hannibal’s maroon glinting amongst Will’s grays and blues. The story they told was equally intriguing. He could see the intelligent and unaffected eyes of Hannibal, and the emotionally weighted, and in a way almost darker, eyes of Will.

“Beautiful” He said to himself.

He realized in that moment that up until then he had not heard himself speak, and the voice that came out caught him off guard. Like everything else about him, it shared the notes of two. Although not quite as distinct, Europe was still present. It was alluringly subtle, the voice of someone well-traveled, belonging to no place in particular, yet many places all at the same time. He decided he would keep speaking aloud.

“I wonder what has become of us”

A sudden dizziness took him over, reminding him once again of his injuries. It took some strength of willpower, but he tore himself away from the mirror, and retrieved the first aid kit from the cabinet below the sink. With some additional tools gathered from the kitchen, as well as a sewing kit he came across, he sat at the dining table and began to dress his wounds, starting with where Hannibal had been shot. Thankfully, the bullet had not hit any vital organs, and was lodged shallowly enough that it was easy enough to fish out. He began to stitch it shut. With the materials he had on hand, it likely wouldn’t hold for long, but it would have to do for now. When he finished the suture, he almost eagerly returned to the mirror to do the same to his cheek. As he worked, he continued to test his voice. He recited some of Hannibal’s favorite poetry, and quietly sang some songs from Will’s childhood (Hannibal, to his great shame, had been an atrocious singer, and Will, to equal shame, had quite a gift. The dichotomy of skill had balanced out to something more or less well-pitched). With every word that came out of his mouth, the initial alarm he had felt melted away into thrill and self-curiosity.

Once he had finished cleaning and dressing his wounds, he took a deep breath. Almost on-cue, a great fatigue came over him. He realized it had been a long time since either of the people he had been had slept. He was hesitant to let himself go to sleep- there were so many questions he still had about himself, so much to consider- but there was no resisting the force pulling his eyes shut. He found the master bedroom, and as soon as his head made contact with the pillows, all his thoughts dissolved into darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, I thought "is this too weird of a concept?" and then I was like "Cleo you dumbass, this is AO3"
> 
> (If I decide to keep going with this fic, it will remain decidedly non-explicit. I am a super clueless asexual who has already seen more than I ever want to browsing this site, so I think it would be in everyone's interest for me to avoid making any attempt at anything overtly sexual.)


End file.
